The curtains hung low over her eyelids of bronze gold, dissembling messages of purity and dainty lace behold the goddess of mystery and defiance.
She gave not an ounce more than the gram of sand in the blighted piece of his heart in a runaway train of donkeys and camels in the spitting image of nails and hails of fire and brimstone. Amid the mid-ship asailing on the asea. From sea to shining goldbugs in the flight of a dozen or more candles flickering to spite the sun and the nearby constable with bated breath, baited to his doom by the leg behind the lace curtains of her flickering eyelids across the circular square of misbegotten lies.
Crushed under the weight of purple expectations, Susan let the constable have it were it not that he had already gone home for dinner with the girl across the way.
Susan ate her oranges in silence, but she could not cry for the tears in her eyes.
Originally published December 13, 2023
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Cataclysmic limericks licked the stalls and walls of sudden death overtime refusing to dye, like the woman with unnaturally natural orange hair comb filtered chaos smearing air filtered blissas in a bite of wavy ghost pepper deep fried goodness sakes don’t let Jesus see me now,,,
Love the colorful imagery!
Wonderful write up!
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